Forzado Junto
by beanrox
Summary: Forced together - by circumstance, freinds, family, and a lot of dish-washing. Scott/Lance
1. In Which There Is A Food Fight

I don't own, so you don't sue. Got it? Good. We're both happy. !, 122 words, counting only the story. Two hours, give or take.

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**Abyssus abyssum invocat** - _Hell calls hell; one mistep leads to another._

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Even Scott had to admit that the second rule on the new, and very unpopular list, wasn't going to stick very well. Probably worse than the first one - which Logan didn't seem very intent on making sure everyone kept to, either.

Ruby-covered eyes slid down the table - passing the empty chairs easily, as mutants filled them with ease born of living at the mansion for months. Even the Brotherhood had their own chairs, including the brown-haired ringleader Lance - unfortuneatly, said mutants' seat was directly across from Scott's. Pondering if Xavier did this sort of thing to _everyone_ on purpose as the rock-tumble slouched into his chair, the graduate reached for the jug of milk set as a divider between himself and Lance.

If either Scott or Lance had been paying more attention, they might have seen Pietro glance at Jean and shake his head and the redhead return the look - and the both of them scoot a little farther away from their respective leaders. And they also might have seen Jean nudge Kitty and Pietro elbow Freddy, and both of them rolling their eyes and passing the word along to duck and cover.

Even Ororo and the Proffesor, down at the other end of the table - a wisely planned move, considering what usually happened when the boys got into an arguement at the dinner table - were mentally debating having asked everyone to sit where they were. Jean and Pietro could probably have soothed the two hot-headed leaders' tempers, but it didn't look they had a mind to. Of course, they could both actually dodge the splatters of food/blood that inevitably came when Scott and Lance were within three feet of each other.

But Scott and Lance hadn't been paying attention to anything much. They had reached for the milk at the same time, unaware the other was doing so. Hands knocked against the scultped jug as both scarred, large hands tried to pull it towards themselves. Together the two succeded merely in knocking over the jug, which - naturally, as the Fates had decided to be particularily venegeful that day - had accidentally been filled with bright red Kool-Aid that night instead of milk. (Kitty's fault.) And both boys were wearing white shirts, although Lances' did have an oil stain on the hem. (Wanda's fault.) Some would say that the two jumped up with reflexes born from training and experience - but they would have been wrong. The two jumped up with reflexes that knew they would be stuck washing their shirts with bleach three times that night if the red liquid got on them. But it would be a close guess between the two, so one could be forgiven for mistaking them.

By the time Scott and Lance had set eyes on the other, everyone in the room - New Mutants and Alcolytes included - had stopped eating and were glancing, or even blantantly staring at the two. Anticipation and tension was strung throughout the room so thick that Logan could almost smell it. No, wait - that might have been Todd. Or maybe it was Kitty's cooking again. Jean and Pietro had now moved to simply leaning away from the two to sitting on the opposite edges of their espective chairs, studiously hoping, in their own knowingly futile way, that things wouldn't excalate. That the two brunettes' would show some maturity and sit down.

As a tremor rattled the room gently and red flared behind a pair of shades, Jean debated ducking below the table. Pietro actually slunk down in his seat. The usual snarls were exchanged - 'Watch _it, Alvers!', 'Me? You're the clutz, Summers!_' - a litany known so that even Freddy could repeat it...in his _sleep_.

And then Scott 'accidentally' let his glasses drop half an inch, and as Lance was thrown across the room, his powers 'accidentally' kicked in and sent a powerfull floor-raising wave towards the bespectacled Summers. Which upended a bowl of washed potatoes that splattered across Jean, Amara, St. John, Todd and Rhane. As the tablecloth caught on fire - John rarely needed prompting to set something on fire, accidentally or not - a spurt of phycic power overturned a platter of jelly and a slimeball hit Bobby on the side of his currently laughing head.

Logan sighed as a peice of ham - frosted over, thanks to the slimed blonde - flew across the room. Then some peas whizzed by his nose, bouncing off a quickly irrate Wanda. So the Canuk wasn't surprised as some gravy was sloughed down the table, dumping into Kitty's lap. Nor was the stout man unprepared when flaming carrots soared from the other end of the table in retaliation. And then something - maybe a peice of turkey, who knew? - exploded and the noise grew exponentially.

And then everyone froze - aside from the teachers.

Logan glanced at Jean, who had a peice of floating chicken aimed at the back of Gambit's unsuspecting head. She looked as surprised as anyone, so the mutant glanced the other way, catching sight of a...well, the only word for it was a pissed Charles Xavier, fingers spread across his temples to help the older man concentrate. Everyone, soon enough, followed Logan's gaze and then glanced down - up - left - right - anywhere but the headmaster of the boarding school.

His voice - deep, compelling, and unusually angry for the bald telepath - brought their attention back to him, however. "Clean this up."

A pause, dark brown eyes alighting on Lance and Scott and nearly raising an eyebrow at the scene - Scott had a hand on Lance's shoulder, ready to shove him away, and the other had a fist in a collision course for the mutants' side. Both looked angry still, though embarresment colored both males' faces - as well as resentment, for being put on the spot and singled out.

"And, Scott - Lance - see me after you two finish cleaning all of the dishes." With that, the telelpath wheeled out of the room, letting everyone have control of their bodies again.

Scott grunted as Lance's fist connect, while Lance was shoved back against the hard edge of his chair, edges biting into the back of his legs.


	2. In Which There Is A Flying Fork

Still don't own it. Also: sorry for the horrendously long wait for an update.

1, 501 words, not counting my Author Notes.

**Sine labore nihil **- _Nothing without work_.

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Fortuneatly for the Scott and Lance, there were seperate sinks - in a place as large as the mansion, there had to be. The only reason there weren't multiple dish washers was because the students actd as dishwashers, which ended up saving Xaviers' some money - to use, Scott hedged his bet, on replacing broken dishes and disfigured silverware.

So they each took one and got to work, taking whatever unbroken dishes that had survicved through dinner and washing and drying them, studiously ignoring each other as well as they could. The kitchen wasn't as big as either of them would have prefered, and Scott was almost certain that the professor had done it on purpose.

When Jean came walking in with a stack of dishes in her hands - and a purple stain on her shirt - Scott braced himself for a lecture, which wasn't coming; the redhead totally ignored him, in fact, and gave her stack of dishes to Lance, who looked just as surprised as Scott did.

The brown-haired rock tumbler quickly recovered, though, a gloating smirk onhis smug face. Scott wanted so very much to punch him again, and that was even before he spoke, which didn't help _or_ hurt anything, really - he usually wanted to punch Lance.

"Hey, Summers, guess your girl ain't so hot on you no more.", Lance laughed. Scott gritted his teeth. "Heh. Maybe she'll even break up with you, what'd'ya think? Bet she got bored with you havin' that stick up your ass-"

Kitty was thankful for her powers when a fork whistled harmlessly through her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. She was less thankful when she saw the reason - Lance was crouched by 'his' sink, and Scott had another fork in a soapy hand. Niether looked particularily fierce, but Kitty didn't want to giggle - _she_ didn't want to be the cause of second 'quake inside five minutes. Add to that that Scott _did_ have that extra fork... "Guys! _Cool it! _Scott, like, what -"

"Kitty, your _fearless leader _here is fuckin' _nuts_.", Lance spat out, quietly gloating, a sneering tone in his voice, although it was more way this time; his eyes, at least, didn't stray from the other fork Scott held. Kitty, for her part, rolled her eyes and snorted, a sentiment echoed by Todd, who had just entered the room, a few cups in hand.

"Yo, even I don't believe that one, Lance. Man, ya'll are gonna get reamed by the Proff anyways, why'n't you both just chill?", the green skinned young man said, ostensibly unaware that both of said mutants shifted guiltily and backed down from 'attack mode'. Kitty smirked, a little surprised herself, although the Valley Girl covered it much better than either of the dish washers, who only sheepishly went back to washing dishes as Toad and Kitty left the room.

In the dining room itself, Kitty rolled her eyes and sighed, ponytail waggin slightly as the brunette shook her head. "Ug! Like, Jean, Scott's _already_ throwing things at Lance!", she complained, phasing through the table to avoid Pietro's speeding form as he whirled towards the kitchen.

Jean shook her head and rolled her eyes in return; Todd was pretty sure it was half of how girls communicated, as he spotted Tabby and Rogue sharing a look down the table as they tried to pry a peice of frozen haw off of the wall without breaking anything - mostly the wall.

"Did zhey start throwing knives yet?", Kurt asked, hanging by his tail from the chandelier above the middle of the table. Kitty glanced up - apperantly not very surrpised; Toad supposed the surprise of that kind of thing wore off after a while - and shook her head.

"No. Like, Scott only threw a fork. It was dented before it hit the wall, anyways, so I guess Ororo won't be too mad at him.", the pahser explained, glancing around as she finished, absently staking the toppled gravy bowl onto a nearby plate that had a large soot mark on it. "Where _is_ Storm, anyways? Did she, like, go and help Beast get those mashed potatoes out of his fur?"

Piotr, who was helping Sam and Saint John scrape something gooey off of the nearest wall, shook his head. "I think that they followed the Proffesor to do, ah, damage control, da?", the Rusian said, glancing at Sam to see if he had phrased it right. When the Kentuy-ian nodded, Piotr seemed to relax a bit.

accepting the large male's explination, everyone kept at their tasks, pausing only when Logan sauntered into the room, cigar clamped firmly in his mouth. jean and Kitty both wrinkled their noses reflexively, and Kurt coughed - Todd was certain pointedly - from his spot on the chandelier.

Todd wasn't surprised when this was ignored; Kurt wasn't either, it seemed. Instead of making a quip at the teleporters, the husky man merely jerked a thumb towards the double-doors that lead into the kitchen before asking, "They kill each other yet?"

As she had been the one to see the most recent attack, Kitty shook her head, handing her stack of dishes to Jean as she headed to the kitchen, moving around everyone present and the table itself.

"Not yet, but they tried. Or, like, Scott did, at least.", she said, casting a dark look at a nearby fork, as if this explained everything. To fill in the blanks - even if he did find the big bad Wolverines' patently confused look hilarious - Pietro intervened and shed some light.

"Ponytail here means that stick-up-his-ass Summers tried to impale Lancey-boy on a fork.", the white haired young man said, grinning unashamedly. To Todd's complete surprise, the gruff old man laughed, and then headed toards the kitchen. It made the green skinned teen feel a little better when he noticed that he and freddy weren't the only ones sharing looks of worry - the Wolverine wasn't named after a viscious animal because he liked having heart-to-hearts, after all, and it looked like the X-Dweebs knew that.

"Should we-?", Piotr asked, gesturing at the closed double doors vaguely, very nearly splattering Cannonball with some of the purple goop the two were getting off of the wall. Todd shook his head, on the hells of Jean and Rogue, both of whom looked resigned - Red, Todd better, because she'd have to convince Scott to not kill Lance and/or Logan after Wolverine got doen 'chatting' with them, and Rogue because she would have to hear everyone bitching about it for weeks to come no matter _what_ anyone did.

"They'll be fahne, Peter. They've both got thick enough skulls. Trust me, Ah'd know.', Rogue said, clearly unworried as she picked a bit of sausage off the back of someone's chair.

"She's, like, kicked Scott's butt enough times to know!", Kitty added, giggling, from a few feet away, puasing in washing part of the dining room rable. Jean smirked and Rogue rolled her eyes; Todd wondered ifthey was some joke he missed.

"Yeah, well, at least _Ah_ wasn't th' one t' test it out by throwin' a _shoe_ at mah boyfiends head!", Rogue countered, both she and Kitty breaking down into laughter when Jean - to Todd's surrpise - when red and scowled at the two of them.

"It was _once_! And it was _improvising_!", the redhead grumped, as the others in the room snickered or grinned.

Todd thought he was seeing deja vu when everyone froze, and he wondered if Xavier had mentally halted everyone again until he turned around and saw Logan, followed by Lance and Scott, both of whom looked worse for wear; Scott had a purpling bruise on his jaw now, and Lance's arm was bleeding. And Logan looked more pissed than usual, which Todd knew was saying something. For him, particularily, that something was usually _'run for your life_!'.

As the wholly disgruntled trio exited via the open doors that led out into the main foyer - Todd presumed they were going to see Xavier, although he supposed it was equally likely that logan would maim them or let them maim each other - everyone else in the dining room shared looks.

Todd gave the betting three seconds.

"So...early Danger Room sessions for a month?"

"Three bucks!"

It didn't take two.


	3. In Which There Is A Femme Fatale

I know, I know - I haven't updated this dusty old thing in forever. Forgive me? Also: I had this song stuck in my head _for a week straight_, which is why this chapter has quotes from it. It being 'Carry On My Wayward Son', which is an awesome, awesome song.

**Ab imo pectore** - _From the heart_

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"God, them kids're horrible. Can't go two steps without 'em at each others' throats. They argued the entire way down here, 'Ro! Makes me wanna bash their heads in.", Logan snarled in a low tone to Ororo, who was lightly leaning against the doors that lead into Xavier's office - not to gaurd it, because she knew that Charles didn't need it, but because she knew Logan was the one bringing the boys up, and she wanted to be a witness to their state of health before they left Logan's 'care'.

"There'll be peace when you are done.", Ororo stated enigmatically, slipping past the small group, smiling at the trio as she sauntered down the hallway, amused with something, humming to herself and shooing a few students out of the hallway with mentions of homework and cleaning.

Logan felt some satisfaction, when he turned his gaze from the dark skinned goddess to Scott and Lance that the two runts looked as confounded by that woman as he felt; least _that_ was the same, no matter how old he got. Women. Couldn't live with _'em_...

But the Canadian's thoughts were dispelled when he reached Xavier's office and opened the door - he knew by now that Chuck _always_ expected people, even when he hadn't bothered to tell anyone those people were coming. Or were their arch-nemesis in his civvies come over to_ play chess _and shoot the breeze about the old days, good and bad. Logan was pretty sure he'd never understand Charles Xavier, no matter how long he lived, and so far he had lived a pretty long time.

"Logan, thank you for bringing the two of them.", Charles Xavier said, from his usual spot behind his desk, the handles on his wheelchair barely visible. Although he wouldn't understand Charles Xaviers' determined freindship with Erik Lensherr, after so long working with the bald man, Logan knew when it was his time to butt out, so he nodded and wheeled around, stalking down the hallway and seperating Scott and Lance, who'd been standing side-by-side outside the open doorway, looking in.

The two young men moved to either side to let the stocky 'teacher' pass, then strode into the office. The rock-tumbler with an air of trepidation - he had never really trusted this place, nor Charles Xavier himself, after his last disastirous attempt at being part of 'the team'. Pah, what a laugh _that_ had been...! And Charles did not blame him; he would be worried as well.

Scott was a little less wary, but still equally as annoyed as his slightly shorter counter-part, and worrying about the lecture he was _sure_ to get, from the Professor if not from Jean, the lack of which was nagging at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. Jean would probably end up shunning him for a few days, then yell at him when he tried to do something nice for her or something - she'd done things like that since they were kids, although back then it had been more about whether he'd cheated at _Clue_ or not.

"Thank you for coming to see me.", Charles said, shutting the door behind the two powerful teenagers with a flick of his hand, and mind, gesturing in the same movement for the two to each take a seat. Accordingly, there were two chairs in front of his desk, and each was taken by the boys with varying levels of gaurdedness.

The two stared at the Professor as he finished speaking, although Scott's stare was less noticable due to his visor, the thought clearly running through his head was that, frankly, they hadn't really had a _choice_, unless they had wanted Logan to_ carry them _to his office.

"Sure, Professor.", Scott said eventually, after only a moments' awkward pause. He knew - they all knew - what they had been 'escorted' up there to be talked about. So did a good portion of the mansion, if the gossip mill was as good as it usually was. And there was no doubt that it was, indeed, good.

"I understand that you two would have difficulty getting along,", Xavier started, motioning vaguely, referrencing the two's volatile and violent past. "But that does _not_ excuse your actions at dinner. I am ashamed that the two of you, role models for the younger students, _started_ the whole altercation.", he added, sharp brown eyes catching Lance and Scott's vaguely and not-so-vaguely, respectively, guilty eyes.

Lance, hand clenching against the plump armrest, responded first, dark eyes burning as he snapped. "Old man, you don't even _know_ what the hell was goin' on."

"Alvers, shut -", Scott snarled, half-rising from his chair - falling back into it as the Professor held up a hand, his eyes studying Avalanche sympathetically. The sympathy was not returned, but Charles had always been a proponent that it was the thought that counted, at least from his side of it.

"And if I claim to be a wise man, that surely means that I don't know.", Professor Xavier replied, smiling slightly as the two boys smirked - without reading their minds, he could tell they knew what he was referencing, an older song, and that each thought the other was so obtuse as to not get the reference. It amused the bald telepath that they could be so alike, for so very different reasons, and yet dislike each other so much.

This only made his smile inch larger, and he reminded himself to mention it to Erik, if he ever returned his last call. Ah, but that was for another time - now, there were two tense and injured young mutants to attend to, and that took priority over his own problems, however varied. Even if, as he was certain, they didn't want to particularily take care of them. Scott, at least, had always had a liking of keeping his bruises and cuts and nearly any injury that didn't mean broken bones or internal organs rupturing alone. Charles privately thought the boy was seeking penance, although he wasn't going to ask or riffle through his stufents' head to find the answer.

"Now - I won't lecture you any more, as I'm sure you both will block it out right now - so I want you two to go down to infirmary and get patched up. Hank should be down there.", Xavier said, waving one hand towards the door.

The two left, Scott apologetic, Lance...not. It might have been his old, weary sense of hope kicking, however, but he thought the boy had been at least deferential, which was a definate upgrade from his usual_ laizze faire _attitude.

When the boys exited the Professors office, Scott closed the door and the two made their way down the halls. Scott had to lead, mostly because that sort of thing was built into him by then, and moreso because Lance only had a very fuzzy recollection of where the Inrifirmary was. Both were surprised at the lack of people - students or teachers - in the hallway, although Scott privately thought that this was less because anybody actually respected their privacy and more because Logan had threatened to eviscerate anyone who destroyed anything else that night, or caused a fight to happen yet again.

And, because Scott really did like his organs where they were, he kept quiet.

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"Lay your weary head to rest...", Hank McCoy started to say, hand on the doorknob. He was making the two young men stay overnight, just in case - he wasn't sure about Lance's ribs, and that bump Scott had on his head...well, it would help things to keep them close. His own room was down the hall, close enough to hear if anything happened - if they tried to sneak out, if they got into a fight, or if something actually did go_ medically _wrong.

"If you say 'don't you cry no more' -", the two chorused, Lance more derisive than Scott, both tired-sounding and faintly annoyed. Of course, then they stopped speaking immediatly, disgusted and surprised at the other.

Scott even propped himself up on his elbow to stare at Lance, incredulous. Hank only smiled and slipped out of the room, chuckling deeply.

He really _would_ have to thank Charles for suggesting the idea to him.


End file.
